The Little Shop of Hopes and Dreams

It was her own stupid fault. She’d known when she’d walked into the arts centre the other evening that she shouldn’t have let herself get sidetracked, but she’d done it anyway. If she’d kept professional, stuck to the plan, it would never have got to the stage where Alex Black was flirting with her and she was starting to like it.

It would never have got to the stage when she’d almost listened to Peggy’s advice about wrapping herself around a hot man, either…

Thank goodness Saffron’s text had arrived when it had. Otherwise she’d have committed professional suicide as well as romantic suicide, and that really would have been too much for one evening.

Saffron appeared half an hour later, with an armful of large, glossy shopping bags with string handles that seemed to contain more air than shopping—the sure sign of some really expensive purchases.

She let the bags drop at her feet with a rustle of tissue paper and greeted Nicole, who had risen and waited patiently while the waiters flapped around their celebrity patron, taking her coat and pulling out her chair so she could sit down.

‘Well,’ she said, leaning forward across the table, her eyes shining. ‘Did you meet him?’

Nicole nodded. ‘I certainly did. That was the plan.’

The only bit of the plan that had gone smoothly, it had to be said.

‘And isn’t he gorgeous? Isn’t he perfect?’

Nicole nodded again, but gently, giving nothing away. ‘He is.’ Not that Saffron would have noticed. She was in full-on gush mode and was only too happy to have someone to sing her fiancé-to-be’s praises to. Which she did, for at least ten minutes. Usually, Nicole enjoyed this bit—seeing that light in a client’s eyes when they talked about the person they wanted to marry—but the longer Saffron talked, the better Alex sounded, and the sicker Nicole felt.

She should tell her. Just spit it out and tell her.

But…

She remembered what Saffron had said about manstealing Minty. And Saffron could be temperamental and rash—she knew that much from the tabloids. And from the fact she wanted to propose to her boyfriend after five months, of course. If she caught Saffron in the wrong mood, she might flush this whole job down the toilet, and Mia and Peggy were depending on her to bring it in. It wasn’t only herself she’d be sabotaging, but her two best friends in the world, and the future of Hopes & Dreams, which she knew she could make a success—she just needed a little more time. And Saffron’s money and profile.

It’s ancient history, she reasoned with herself. Nothing. Less than nothing. And over before Saffron and Alex began. What good would it do to dredge it all up now?

Their drinks and appetisers arrived. Saffron had ordered a seafood platter, which was on a metal plate on a stand, lying on a bed of crushed ice. A large and rather pink prawn was facing in Nicole’s direction and it fixed her with its black, currant-like eyes. I know, it seemed to be saying. I know your secret…

It was at that point that Nicole decided she had to do something to protect her sanity. As much truth as she was able to tell might do it. She took the opportunity while Saffron sipped her wine to butt in. ‘Unfortunately, I didn’t get quite as much information from Alex as I’d like to have done the other evening. I thought I’d better let you know that I may need to meet with him again.’

Saffron threw her head back and tipped an oyster down her throat then shrugged. ‘Fine. Whatever you need to do to get the job done.’

Nicole let out a breath. She’d be honest about the present, even if the past was better left in the past. ‘I’m keeping up my cover story and attending a wedding posing as a journalist next Saturday,’ she told her client. ‘Hopefully, it’ll give me some really good ideas.’

Saffron grinned at her. ‘As long as those ideas are big and colourful and expensive, I’m all in. What have you come up with so far?’

Nicole smiled as she toyed with her dressed crab. At least now she was back in her comfort zone. They spent the rest of the time discussing the merits of different venues and proposal types and ended up with a shortlist of three basic outlines, which Nicole would tailor further to Saffron’s requirements when she had more of an idea of what made the wonderful Alex Black tick.

When they were finished, Saffron thanked her for lunch and swept off to another urgent appointment she was already an hour late for, and Nicole settled the bill.

It had started to rain while they’d been eating. She had a raincoat with her, but it didn’t have a hood, so she had to pull her collar up and jog down the alleyway that ran past a theatre and out onto St Martin’s Lane. She looked sideways as she ran past the row of posters advertising the latest play. The glass was just shiny enough to send back a reflection.

She slowed to a walking pace, still glancing at her image in the dark posters as she passed them. Her eyes were large and she looked younger. She was reminded of the night Jasper hadn’t proposed. She’d run away from the restaurant, down alleys like this, desperate to get to the main road and find a cab.

She’d thought she’d got rid of that woman, that only an echo of her had been left behind. It was a shock to see her staring back at her, the pale face superimposed on those of the actors in the posters.

She couldn’t be that person again. Not now. And definitely not for the next six weeks as they ran up to Christmas and Saffron’s big proposal. The clock couldn’t turn backwards. She wouldn’t let it.

She had this horrible feeling that if she didn’t finish the journey she’d started after Jasper left her, she’d always be stuck in some horrible limbo between being the girl she once was and the woman she wanted to be. And that wouldn’t do. She needed every bit of armour about her now.

Especially if she was going to survive a whole Saturday in the company of Alex Black.

CHAPTER TEN (#ulink_6d9f1931-09a5-5254-a24a-e4ea537e8d0f)

It was bright and frosty that Saturday morning when Alex pulled up outside Nicole’s flat in his car. She didn’t wait for him to ring the doorbell. Instead she ran down the stairs, intending to intercept him on the pavement outside before he even got out of the car. The less he knew about her the better, because if Alex found out what she really did for a living before Saffron proposed, her whole life would be toast.

She’d formulated a plan while she’d been waiting. In lieu of anything better, today’s objective was to be the consummate professional—on two fronts: the real job and the fake job. She would not flirt. She would not stammer. She would forget all about how attractive he was and treat him the same as any other fiancé-to-be.

And he was, really. Despite what had happened on New Year’s Eve. There was no reason to feel as if she’d known him for years, no reason to believe they were part of a secret club of two, no matter how much the air seemed to close in around them every time they were within three feet of each other. It was just physical. She had to remember that. Chemicals firing off in her brain at the sight of a nice-looking man. Nothing more.

And she didn’t need to get to know him, either. At least no more than she needed to so she could do her job and provide Saffron with the proposal she’d hired her for.

He spotted her emerging from the door to the street as he stepped from his car, and one corner of his mouth lifted in greeting. Her disobedient heart went into overdrive, causing her pulse to bang in her ears. She took a deep breath and ignored it. Talk the talk, walk the walk, and the rest will follow.

‘Will this do?’ she said, opening her coat and showing him what she was wearing. He’d said she should dress smartly but practically and with a view to being as unobtrusive as possible.

It had taken a while to find something that would truly help her blend into the background. While she favoured understated elegance, she realised that she always dressed hoping others would notice the pared-down style, the subtle message that said, ‘I’m not trying to impress you’, even though she subconsciously was. In the end she’d plumped for a soft charcoal jumper over smart black trousers and boots with a heel that wouldn’t give her nosebleeds.

Alex was dressed in a dark suit with a thin black tie and a large and slightly scruffy overcoat thrown over the top. He should have looked smart, but somehow the overall effect, including the battered boots that still graced his feet, gave him the air of a rock star who was trying very badly to be on his best behaviour.

He gave her a wink. ‘It’ll do,’ he said.

She told herself the rush of heat to her face was down to the icy wind pinching her cheeks. She nodded and slid into the passenger seat of his Jeep while he rather gallantly held the door open for her. She wished he hadn’t. The only way she was going to make it through today was if she cast herself as lowly helper and packhorse. She didn’t want him to do the sort of thing he might have done if they were out on a date.

‘How long will it take us to get there?’ she asked, as he started up the engine and pulled away.

‘An hour to an hour and a half, depending on the traffic.’

She nodded and kept her focus straight ahead as they headed east, through the almost empty streets. She’d hoped it would be a local wedding, something at a nice hotel in London. Something she’d have been able to get the Tube to, then get away again as quickly as possible. But it had turned out they were heading across London and into deepest Kent, to a stately home called Elmhurst Hall. She’d heard of it, but had never been there before. All of a sudden, an hour and a half in a Jeep with him felt like an eternity.

‘Do you mind if I put some music on?’ he asked.

Nicole shook her head, and Alex prodded a couple of buttons on the stereo. Pretty soon a rock station was blaring into the car. She welcomed the noise, hoping it would fill the space between them, hoping it would stop her noticing each tiny movement of his arm near hers as he moved the gear stick.

It didn’t work.

It also didn’t remove the subtle scent of his aftershave from the confined space or stop her listening to the thrum of his voice as he hummed along with a favourite song. She decided the only way she would keep her sanity was if she did talk.

‘Tell me about the location,’ she said. Maybe, if she could keep herself in ‘work’ mode—even if her work wasn’t just being photographer’s dogsbody—then she’d survive this monster of a day.

‘It’s the home of Lord and Lady Radcliffe, but they open the house and gardens to the public and do a great wedding package,’ he told her, only flicking a glance in her direction as he weaved through the London traffic. ‘I’ve done a couple of weddings there before, so I didn’t need to go down and scout out the place beforehand. The ceremony is going to be in the church at the edge of the grounds and the reception will be held in the grand hall. It’s medieval, complete with a raised dais at one end and shields and swords on the wall. Lighting will be a bit of a nightmare, by the way, because it’s a bit gloomy in there this time of year…One of the reasons I could do with an assistant today.’